


Abashed the Devil Stood

by CaesarVulpes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Also Love, Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, im serious about the waxing poetic, smut with feelings, waxing poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarVulpes/pseuds/CaesarVulpes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you realized you loved him you wanted to scream, it was so unfair.</p><p>For someone used to being a monster, to love is torture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abashed the Devil Stood

**Author's Note:**

> Title is part of a quote from Paradise Lost (and also The Crow): "Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw virtue in her shape how lovely, and pined his loss."

When you realized you loved him you wanted to scream, it was so unfair. You’d known he loved you for months, years maybe, the little fool. And here you were, helpless, robbed of your chance to break him. The first time you kissed him and meant it, you wanted to die. The minute your dead heart began to beat again, it began to bleed, to tear itself to pieces. It hurt to love him, every joy was agony. Because you were going to break him.

He either guards his heart too jealously or gives it out too readily, there is no middle ground. At first, you gloried in it, reveled in how easily his string of lovers broke him. Now you wish he’d given it to someone else. You’re going to destroy him, no matter how hard you try not to. You will.

You want to squeeze the life from him, you want to carve your name into his skin. Instead you sink your teeth into his neck, draw your tongue up his throat, make him squeal and draw his legs up around you. You wish you wanted him to find someone better, but you think you might kill him if he leaves you.

(You hope you don’t. You know you would).

You’re gentle with him for now. You didn’t know you knew how, but you make yourself be gentle with him because you’re selfish and you think you might actually die if you lose him. If you drive him away.

(If you kill him).

Your hands slide over his skin and you still take note of every spot you’d like to scar, even as you’re thrusting hard and deep and he’s squirming under you.

His hands find your hair and pull and you moan quietly, lay into him. You never knew you liked that until the first time he buried his fingers in and twisted. But then, you’d done it with so few people, how could you have known?

How could you have known?

(How were you to know how readily his bratty demands would give way to frantic pleas? That it only takes two fingers to reduce the Riddler’s famous pride to pathetic mewling?)

He arches under you, begs you to fuck him harder. You do, you brace your hands at his hips and slam into him so hard he screams, claws your shoulders, sobs into the air between you. He comes hard, squealing your name.

_“Jon, fuck, oh god”_

His voice alone is almost enough for you to finish, in fact you’re sure it could easily be, but what really does it is the desperate face he’s making, flushed and helpless and you think he might be crying.

“ _I love you,_ ” he whimpers, “ _I love you so much._ ”

You know, and you hate it.

“ _God, I love you too._ ”

You hate that even more.


End file.
